12/12/12

In the shower, shampoo's out. Squinting eyes
so water drops don't dislodge my contacts,
step onto rug, rummage through my trusty
Parallel Universe go-bag for Lilliputian
leftover from a hotel. Back under steamy spray,
eyes closed, lather and sniff and suddenly
I'm twelve, maybe younger. Lemony scent of Christmas
Jean Nate. Little girl, flat-chested, flat-minded,
paper doll precursor to the woman I would become.
Slippery hands to collar bones that haven't changed
all that much. Down a few inches and boom!
Breasts I never thought would grow back then,
blossomed out and then some, even after babies
(and, um, well, a few others). Soft belly, no longer
flat, but oh the miracle of bringing babies from its
welcoming cavern, fantasy I couldn't fathom
way back then. Hair there, legs twice as big, I'd wager.
I wouldn't go back for all the money in the world.
And I wonder if it happened all around the
planet on this phenomenal 12/12/12. Once every
thousand years - momentary portal to the past reminding
us that there's so much life ahead. Dreams to find and fulfill,
surprises of love and joy to clothe our naked souls.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012